The Library of Hearts
by RightToRemainSilent
Summary: Take Isadora Quagmire, put her behind the check-out desk in a library with an annoying coworker, a broken coffee machine and nothing to write about and you'll get an interesting story. :Eventually a Klaus/Isadora:
1. Broken Coffee Machines and God Complexes

_**Bonjour, mes amis. **I bring you the beginning - yes, I am aiming for more than a oneshot - of a Klaus/Isadora fic. A few people have asked me for it, whether directly or in passing, and so... Here you go. I don't like Isadora/Klaus as much as Quiglet, but hey. A fic's a fic whoever it includes. Plus it gives me a chance to do something other than 'vair depressing' as **Kneazle **as stated, so I'm hoping this qualifies as cheerful. Ish._

_Anyway, I appear to be rambling. Everything but the plot belongs to Lemony Snicket/Daniel Handler. Also, if anyone can find a Library name mentioned anywhere in ASOUE please drop me a line - I have googled it and flicked through the books and drawn a blank, so for the moment it is simply called The Library. Inventive, huh?_

_Well. Read and enjoy..._

* * *

_**Library of Hearts**_

The sun was shining and the weather was warm, but Isadora Quagmire's mood was anything but. Being up this early did nothing but bring back bad memories of Prufock Prep, and that made her think of the Baudelaires, which led to thoughts of Klaus, which then led to a bout of gloominess that lasted all day. No. Early morning was definitely not her favourite time of the day.

Isadora walked along the pavement, her feet making hardly any noise amongst the crowds of people. She sighed and drew her arms tighter around her notebook, hugging it to her chest to stop it being swept away in the sea of civilians.

_Why does the city have to be so crowded this early? _She thought, as she thankfully found her turn off and hurried up the steps to the city Library. As she pushed open the huge doors and stepped into the warm interior, she breathed a sigh of relief; another morning rush braved and survived. Checking her bag was still intact – you never could be sure in crowds - Isadora made her way over to the check-out desk and slipped behind it, laying her notebook down in front of her and sitting heavily on one of the free swivel chairs.

"Good morning, Issy!"

Isadora turned and smiled wearily at her ever-cheerful colleague, Benedict Swan. He had dark blonde hair, small round glasses and an annoyingly happy grin **always** fixed in place. _I wonder if he sleeps with his face stuck in that position. _She pondered, as she silently instructed Benedict that it was **not **Issy, it never **had** been Issy, and would never **be **Issy. She had given up trying to tell him out loud that it was simply Isadora long ago – the man was plain infuriating.

"Hello Ben."

She tucked her hair behind her ears and set to work waiting for the first book-borrowers to approach the desk. It was like this every morning – she would come in, do her best to ignore Benedict and then sit there, doodling or writing a few couplets down in her notebook until she could nip out from behind the desk and go in search of something caffeine-infused.

Taking up a pencil and staring around the Library for a minute or two, Isadora tried to come up with a poem worth writing today. The way the light filters through that big window and hits the spiritual section just right? _No, did that yesterday. _How about the fact that nobody seems to come in anymore? _Nope. Done that. _She sighed and dropped the pen back on the desk, spinning idly from side to side. Benedict had disappeared, and she hoped he would go to the dodgy coffee machine again. He always did, no matter how many times he was told it didn't work and would take a while to get a replacement valve. He was always there for at least an hour, trying to coax the machine into life. Isadora had yet to decide whether he was stupid, forgetful, or just determined. _Maybe he thinks he's God; he'll get a coffee out of that infernal device if it kills him! _She smiled to herself as this thought sauntered through her mind, and then drummed her fingers on the desk to pass the time. Maybe something exciting would happen. She snorted at the very idea. Exciting, in this Library? Nothing **ever **happened that could be classed as even slightly stirring. Ever. Well, apart from the time Benedict was caught kicking the coffee machine, and she still filed that in a part of her brain she only visited in times of complete despair and when she was in dire need of cheering up. But still. Exciting and her job just didn't mix, it was a well known fact.

If only she knew how wrong she was.

* * *

_Hm. This looked longer in MSWord. Ah well, it's here anyway. Reviews welcomed! Danke for reading!_

_:Symph:_


	2. Mysterious Goings On

**Hello Again. **It's been a while since I last did anything, and I thought I'd hurry up and get the next chapter of Library of Hearts, my K/I fic, out before I lost inspiration and gave up on everything. Hm. Please bear in mind that I have hardly any storyline for this, apart from a basic skeleton that I need to flesh out majorly and put some actual plot into it. Because a the moment I am winging it. But that doesn't mean I can't have fun playing with Klaus and Isadora. ^^

**Disclaimer: **Daniel Handler/Lemony Snicket I am not. Although Benedict and Mrs Enoch are my own characters, Isadora isn't. The almost-storyline is also mine.

* * *

_**~ The Library of Hearts ~**_

_Chapter 2 ~ Mysterious Goings On _

A toddler was screaming over by the children's section, and Isadora wondered how long it would take before she had to go over and either tell the mother to escort the child out of the Library or just hit him over the head with the book he was rolling around on the floor with. She had a feeling, though, that the second plan might get her fired. She sighed; pity, really.

"Hey, Issy?"

Isadora groaned inwardly and turned to face Benedict, smiling brightly, hoping to God he wasn't going to ask anything potentially awkward. "Yes?"

He was holding a cup of coffee, and she wondered briefly if he'd had to go to another machine or whether the broken one had actually worked. Either way he was back early and she was definitely not in the mood for conversation with him. One word in that annoying, chirpy, nasally voice of his and she would end up dismantling the pencil sharpener and ending it all before it got any worse. _The blades in sharpeners have to be fairly sharp, otherwise they'd be completely useless, right? _She maintained her smile despite her train of thought and waited for him to finish what he was saying.

"I was just thinking; are you doing anything this weekend?" He asked, smiling his usual grin. Isadora felt her smile melt into a grimace slowly, and tried hard not to show her feelings on her face. This was only the – oh, what was it again? – eleventh time he'd asked her out in the four months she'd worked at the Library, and she had said no each time. Well, she was hardly going to say yes.

"Erm, sorry Ben, but I'm…" _Give him an excuse, idiot. _What could she say that wasn't clichéd or had already been used to fob him off? "Erm, I'm going out of town to visit my brother." She sighed with relief. It wasn't quite a lie, either. Okay, so Duncan lived nearby, working for the local paper, but Ben didn't need to know that, did he?

His face fell, and he shrugged, putting the coffee down on the desk and flicking through the logbook. "Oh, it's okay. I mean, I'm probably busy too…" He trailed off hurriedly, and Isadora almost felt bad. Almost.

"Oh."

She spun her chair around, not wanting to have to face him in case he started a conversation again, and jotted a few lines down in her notebook.

_A very persistent fellow is Ben,_

_Why do I always attract the weird types of men?_

She sat back and stared at the poem, grimacing again. It wasn't her best, and it also made her mind drift to Klaus. Okay, maybe he wasn't weird. Just… unfortunate. But she couldn't be bothered to edit the poem and anyway, it was almost the end of the day. Isadora sighed and let her gaze wander to the big clock that hung above the double doors. The hands were ornate, and ticked around painfully slowly as if blatantly taunting her with the countdown until she could leave. Ten minutes. Isadora noted the toddler who had previously been throwing a tantrum was being pulled away from the picture books and out into the street. _At least that's one annoying feature of today gone._ Eight minutes. The old man in a chair in the poetry corner still hadn't woken up, and she had a feeling she was going to have to go and wake him up. Or maybe send Benedict over. _Hm. _And then the end of the working day approached, and Benedict swung his bag onto his shoulder, buttoning his coat up. Isaodra sighed and thanked the Lord Ben hadn't asked to walk her home.

"Bye Issy!" Ben waved as he hurried down the steps and out into the street, and Isadora waved slightly, watching him go. The Head of Staff turned to her, a pile of books in her arms. Isadora frowned slightly. Mrs Enoch smiled at her.

"Isadora, dear, I wondered if you wouldn't mind just putting these back in the Tragedy section for me?"

Isadora smiled at the aging woman, dropping her bag back onto the swivel chair and taking the books from her. "Of course, Mrs Enoch." It wouldn't take her long, she reasoned, and it would give her time to make sure Benedict wasn't waiting for her outside like a frog waiting for a fly to buzz past. She shuddered at the mere thought of having to walk home with him again, especially in the rain. _He'll probably offer to share his umbrella. _She hardly believed how the weather had changed from the glaring sun this morning, but she didn't mind the rain that much.

Her shoes made hardly any noise on the deep-pile, beige carpet as she made her way over to the tragedy section, the eight books stacked high in her arms. Mrs Enoch was a nice enough woman, but she tended to hang around the Library desk, regardless of whether she was needed or not, like a rather short hawk. A hawk with horn-rimmed glasses. Isadora grinned to herself at the thought of Mrs Enoch suddenly sprouting wings, and turned into the aisle full of books containing enough sob-stories to keep anybody weeping for at least a day. Maybe two.

The library itself was old fashioned, and the walls were covered in oak panelling. They were hardly visible, however, as the floor-to-ceiling bookcases took up the majority of them. Isadora scanned the shelves and slotted the first book into its place. To her left, a dark oak panel on the wall showed off the certificates the Library had attained over the years. Best Public Library of The Decade – it missed out the bit of it being the only local library in the area – was one of them, along with Spiffing Staff Certificate of the year. That had been awarded last year, before she'd arrived. She didn't take much notice of the Boasting Wall until, that is, a faint knocking was heard from behind it. At first Isadora brushed it aside as something elsewhere in the Library. Then, when it happened again, she frowned, and put the remaining books down on the floor. _If Ben's somehow behind this whole thing, I will kill him. Probably with coffee. _She glanced around, making sure no one was near enough to watch her probably making a complete fool of herself, and then advanced towards the section of wall that the noise had come from.

"Are you nearly done, dear?"

Isadora almost jumped out of her skin, but then scolded herself when she realised it was only Mrs Enoch, checking up on her. She sighed, and rolled her eyes at her jumpiness.

"Yes, Mrs E, don't worry."

"All right, don't take too long!"

Isadora waited for Mrs Enoch to disappear into the back storerooms again and sighed once more, continuing towards the knocking panel. With a tentative hand, she rapped twice on the oak. For a minute, nothing happened. Isadora smiled – another mystery solved, it was obviously just the building easing as the night set in – and began to turn away. And then, with precision and considerable volume, the wall knocked back.

* * *

Well. This idea came to me out of the blue, and I have a vague idea of what's going to happen. But vague is the key word, there. Anyway. I'm off. Torchwood is on and I have stuff to be getting on with. I s'pose.

**_Ciao._**

Symph x


	3. The Panel That Knocked Back

**_Evening all._ **_I know, I know - I am a bad bad person. I've kept you all waiting for this, but c'mon; I am going into a dark, cave infested with starving bears without a gun as far as this story goes, and it has coursework and parents going mental to compete with. So... forgiven? I thought not. _

_But anyway, considering it's my first multi-chapter fanfic, I am thinking this isn't going too bad. Non? If I feel up to it, I might construct a playlist for this. If you have any ideas, feel free to drop by and comment._

**Disclaimer: **_Everyone/thing you have heard of before belongs to David Handler/Lemony Snicket, and Mrs Enoch, Ben and the Library belong to moi. _

* * *

_**~ The Library of Hearts ~**_

_Chapter Three ~ The Panel That Knocked Back_

Isadora Quagmire was not entirely certain that what she was doing couldn't be classed as illegal. Sure, she worked there, and had door keys, but would the local police still count it as breaking and entering? She wasn't sure. It was almost midnight, the Library keys were dangling from her hand as she stood on the stone steps of the building, and she squinted through the half-light to slip the key into the lock.

She'd only been given a key because Mrs Enoch was prone to forgetting important items – such as books, library tickets and, of course, keys – and she had decided it would be safer if someone 'younger and far more sprightly' had been in possession of a spare key in case the originals went missing. And besides, she could be retrieving something she'd left behind earlier that evening. She had a catalogue of legit excuses ranging from; 'I'm on a deadline for a set of poetry for a magazine and I left my notebook in the Ladies room,' to; 'I left a shopping bag in here and my cat is currently dying of starvation, would you mind if I went and got that tin of Tiger?'

A click alerted her to the fact that the lock was open and she pushed the heavy front doors open, before slipping into the musty interior of the City Library. The carpet was soft under her feet, but the boards underneath still creaked and she winced; _Thank god for dodgy alarm systems_, she thought.

This was, of course, the moment that the dodgy alarm system decided to prove itself not so dodgy and a shrill beeping noise filled the hall. Isadora cursed loudly, dropped her satchel to the floor and hurried over to the alarm case, hoping she would remember the correct code to shut the thing up. With hasty fingers she flipped the plastic case up from the number pad and prodded the code she decided was the right one in hurriedly, praying that nobody would react to the alarm. Almost as soon as it had started it stopped, and she let herself relax again.

"Now, to find that panel…" She muttered, and slowly plucked her satchel from the floor, hitching it up onto her shoulder as she trod carefully towards the Tragedy aisle. She reached into the bag and drew out a relatively small crowbar, gripping it tightly in her fingers. If anyone hadn't been suspicious before, the metal bar grasped in her hands might change their minds, she decided. But if she was going to go through with finding out what had tapped on the wall only a few hours ago, she was going to have to use a little force. And maybe risk the chance of either getting sacked or getting nicked – not that she had any plans to do either, you understand.

The tragedy aisle greeted her with promises of doomed lovers, suicidal widows and lonely orphans as she approached its shadowy realm of the Library, and she swallowed. The panel that had knocked back was only a little way ahead; she could see the Spiffing Staff Certificate in the dim light. Her hand groped at the wall, and with a slight flick of her index finger light flooded the towering bookshelves, washing the shadows away. Now that there was no longer the fear of going into something completely in the dark in more than one way of speaking, she too a deep breath and continued towards the panel, the crowbar held loosely at her side.

Isadora wondered how long it would take her to prise the panel off, and even if she did there was no guarantee there was nothing but brick wall behind it. But she consoled herself with the knowledge that somebody had knocked on the wood, and therefore it **had** to be hollow. _Right? _

As she got closer to the section of wood she was about to attack with a blunt object, Isadora made a mental note never to help Mrs Enoch again. Knocking walls were definitely something she could do without. _Then why are you here, stalking around the Library like an idiot, huh? _She ignored the niggling voice at the back of her mind, and gritted her teeth. _Oh, yeah, that's going to work. Pretend everything's fine and you're __**not**__ about to prise an antique piece of wood from the wall on the grounds that 'it knocked back.' I bet that'll hold up in court when you're standing there being done for damages._

Moulding her hand into a fist, she knocked twice on the desired panel. The noise sounded hollow, echoing back against her. She moved slightly to the left and did the same; no echo this time. She sighed, and bent down in front of the wood, running her fingers along it in the vain hopes that there would be no need for the crowbar and she would just be able to use her fingers. When no groove or hidden mechanism was discovered, she bit her bottom lip, sighed heavily again, and then took up the crowbar.

_Goodbye, job. _She thought bitterly; _It was nice knowing you._

She slotted the crowbar into the defined slot between panels and wriggled it into a manageable position. If she could just get it under the panel, she would be able to pull it off. The crowbar seemed to slip under the wood, and then Isadora gritted her teeth, pushing forward on the metal. Nothing moved. She swore under her breath, and then applied all her weight onto the crowbar. Oh, if only Ben could see her now – actually, that might not be such a bad thing. Maybe he could coax the wood panelling off.

There was a soft click, and the section of wall she had been working on swung open. Unfortunately, Isadora was still putting everything she had into pushing on the crowbar, and – now that the leverage was gone – the crowbar decided it had had enough, and she flew forwards, sprawling on the beige carpet.

When she was certain the material had made a sufficient imprint on her face, Isadora got to her feet, retrieving the crowbar from the bottle-green armchair it was currently embedded in and frowning cautiously at the panel. She tried to ignore the carpet-print friction burn making itself at home on her cheek.

It seemed to be almost like a door, and her frown deepened. She crept forward, the crowbar held defensively in front of her. As she neared the space left by the panel, she could see inside. Tiny, almost unnoticeable hinges held the panel to the Library wall – _That explains that, then – _and the interior of what looked like a slender passageway was revealed. It was dark and smelled of dust, and Isadora had no desire to enter, at least, not without knowing what was inside. _Yeah, because going into pitch-black spaces without anyone knowing where you are or even knowing where you're going yourself is __**such **__a good idea. _

Her eyes turned once again to the inside of the panel, this time noticing a small fold of paper slipped under a large splinter. On the grubby white of the paper she could see some writing, but had to lean in close to get a better look at it. As the note became clearer, she could make out the words that adorned the side facing her, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

_For the immediate attention of Miss Isadora Quagmire._

* * *

**A/N: **Well, that was a bit fast paced at the start, methinks. But as the ending was a bit rubbish, I am not going to keep you waiting too long. Maybe. Meh.

I have to go and hunt down chocolate, anyway.

**_Au Reviour... _**

_Symph x_


	4. Trust Nobody

_**Um. **Very very late update. I have no excuses. *hangs head in shame* But here's chapter four. Ahem._  
**Disclaimer: **_Anything you recognise isn't mine blahblahblah and I still retain ownership of Benedict/Mrs Enoch. _

* * *

_**The Library of Hearts  
**Chapter Four ~ Trust Nobody_

The small note crinkled under her fingers and Isadora frowned. It was grimy paper but otherwise seemed fairly recent, and as she unfolded it she had to squint to read the tiny writing. Without really thinking about it, she edged backwards and sat down in the armchair, checking she was still alone in the Library and then she started to read.

_Miss Quagmire,_

_We have not met, I don't think, but the people concerned in my letter have been in your presence more than once. I would not intrude on your private life unless it was absolutely necessary, you understand, and the Library was the only way I could think of to get a message to you without alerting our enemies. The tunnels in the wall of the Library have been there for years, and it was used by many of our volunteers before the schism. I would not contact you in any other circumstances, but I found that what I have to say must not reach your ears from anyone but myself._

_What I am about to tell you must never leave your lips, Isadora. After you read it you must not tell anyone about this message. Instead, I would like to meet with you and explain further, if that is possible. If it is, leave a note in the door of the tunnel with a meeting place stated and I will do my best to attend._

_Trust nobody – the people you work with are not your friends. Remember this, Miss Quagmire, and please do not attempt to question them. Benedict Swan is not to be trusted. _

_There is more you need to know, concerning your friends the Baudelaires, but I would prefer to say more in person._

_A Friend_

Isadora's frown deepened. She was holding a note that stated that her workmates were possibly enemies. Did that include Mrs Enoch or not? Surely she couldn't be against VFD, she was a frail, forgetful old lady. Isadora's cynical side entered at this point. _Maybe that's what she wants you to think. Maybe she keeps a machete in her shawl or cheese wire in that hair net of hers._ She stopped herself before she managed to paint Mrs Enoch in a bad light completely. There was the case of Ben, too. She had no trouble not trusting him, but believing he might be an enemy? It wasn't something that had crossed her mind. Ben was hesitant and quiet, and nervous around those of the female population. But he was also persistent, and had moments of unexplained anger. Isadora snorted. So he kicks the coffee machine every morning. It didn't really make him out to be a villain in the situation. Did it?

Just the thought of Mrs Enoch waving a machete around or taking cheese wire from her hair like some sort of elderly Bond Girl made Isadora doubt the contents of the note. Then again, she hadn't heard from the Baudelaires for a while. Of course, it didn't mean anything bad had happened. But it was curious, all the same. She decided that she would contact Duncan as soon as possible, and then ask him what he thought about it. Her eyes were drawn back to the note. _'What I am about to tell you must never leave your lips_.' Surely she could tell her own brother? Duncan would never tell anyone else.

She curled her legs up under her in the armchair, and her mind worked in overdrive. In short, the writer was saying that her workmates might be on the other side and might know that she wasn't. They were saying that whatever they had to say involved the Baudelaires and that it was important that the information stayed between them and Isadora. It didn't state a name or an address, though. So the only way to reply would be the way suggested in the note – leave a reply in the door.

Isadora shrugged – What harm could it do, really? She would simply write a note asking what was going on and saying that she would like to meet with 'A Friend' in the café on the corner to discuss this secret information. _Yes_, she decided; _she would do that. _

She slipped from the chair in a slightly ungraceful manner and fumbled through her satchel, discarding her notebooks and house keys until she found a well-chewed pencil stub lying forlornly in the corner of the bag. She pulled it out and turned the note over, scribbling on the other side. For a second her pencil hovered over the paper, unsure of how to phrase her message. Then she shrugged and dove straight into it. Why waste time? She was already wasting enough when she could be safely at home, away from the threat of being found trespassing. For a brief moment she wondered what the police would do if they found her sitting in the Library writing a note to someone who lived in the walls of the Library. She grimaced – the local psychiatric ward would be getting a new visitor if she went with that story.

_Dear Friend,_

_I don't know who you are – as you said in your previous note, obviously – but I do know what you're saying. So Ben is an enemy? Well, thanks for the warning. I've only been working here two years. You could've said something sooner, what with the tunnels and all. But anyway, I suppose I shouldn't complain. At least you're not saying my landlord wants me dead, or anything. _

_So, yeah, I think meeting up would be a very good idea, if only so I can ask you what the hell's going on. How about the Anxious Clown this evening? It's not a particularly nice place, but I think we should be safe from enemies. Nobody in their right mind goes there._

_Isadora Quagmire_

Isadora studied the letter. It seemed to be all right, although maybe she should've said more about the Baudelaires. But she didn't have an eraser and besides, she would learn more when she went to meet 'A Friend'. She added the date at the top, just in case the mysterious author didn't know which evening she was referring to.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, torn between calling Duncan about it and talking it through first, or just replying straight away. The note was very strict in its instructions, but she wanted to tell someone, as a precaution if nothing else. What if 'A Friend' wasn't a friend, and something awful happen? Nobody would know what had happened to her. She frowned, and tapped the pen against the paper thoughtfully.

Then Isadora made the mistake of glancing at her watch and almost shrieked – if she stayed her any longer she risked being caught. She collected her satchel and shovelled everything back into it, being careful not to leave anything behind. Then, folding the note back into its original square, she slotted it into the panel and closed it. There was a soft click as the small door settled back into its groove. It would have to do.

She hurried as quietly as she could, a silly caution considering she was alone, and reset the alarm system before fumbling for her keys and slipping out of the library. The first tendrils of daylight were beginning to creep through the sky, and she cursed her lack of sleep – she was going to need more coffee than usual to deal with Benedict today. _Benedict, who may be about to reveal his true intentions and murder me horribly while I sit at my desk. _It would be an interesting day, all things considered.

Isadora took the Library steps two at a time, and hurried along the road towards home. She had some thinking to do.


End file.
